Lobotomy Scars
by compartmental
Summary: He's smiling with two black eyes. / for Caesar's Palace and Dicey.


**trigger warnings: **mental health problems (badly depicted?), vague depression, a sort-of suicide attempt, drinking, and surgical procedures. Also, canon divergence. Author's note at the bottom.

* * *

On June 2, 1951, Haymitch Abernathy tries to kill himself.

* * *

_June 21, 1951_

"So, what're you in here for?"

Haymitch blinks. Eddie — at least, Haymitch thinks that's his name — has been working his jaw all morning, filling Haymitch in on the workings of the place. Haymitch had seen Eddie eyeing him when he'd arrived last night, all predatory curiosity. He's been waiting for the question to come up since the mid-afternoon snack. He sighs.

"About the same reason everyone else is locked up in this place, you know? We're here because they don't think we're right."

Eddie nods along with what Haymitch's saying, but isn't satisfied. Haymitch can almost see his brain working behind his eyes, grasping for clues that aren't there. He almost asks Eddie what he's in for, but doesn't. He'd really rather not know.

A nurse — Helen, he thinks; he's still learning names — walks up to the couch they're sitting on and requests Haymitch follows her. He does.

_November 29, 1950_

Haymitch is nervous. He doesn't think he's ever sweat this much, and that includes in his required high school gym courses. The rented suit and the sweat combine to form a very, very itchy situation. He swears the temperature has risen to the boiling point in the five minutes he's been standing at the front of the church.

His dad catches his eye from the first row. His smile is wide. His eyes are wet.

The minister is standing stiller than Haymitch thought possible, but his eyes are kind and his posture is still friendly. His childhood piano teacher, Mrs. Allendale, starts with the first few notes of the march and Haymitch forgets how to breathe.

The progression is moving at a snail's pace, each couple taking their time — each in their own little eternities — until he sees the smiling face of Britty Everdeen. The maiden of honor's arms are linked with her new husband's, Alexander, his best man.

Little Alice walks down the aisle next, a nonlinear line of daisy petals trailing in her wake.

Everyone stands and turns to face the entrance. The music falls short of Haymitch's ears, like he's suspended between realities. His brain catalogs everything from the stark whiteness of her dress to the stern look her father is trying to give him, but not quite succeeding.

He looks up at her face and their eyes meet, and every single doubt he's had the past week flies out of his memory.

Does he take Maysilee Margaret Donner to be his lawfully wedded wife? Yes, he certainly does.

_May 19, 1951_

Haymitch thanks the doctor, shakes his hand, and takes hold of Maysilee's. They walk out of the office with their hands entwined, only parting when Haymitch opens the passenger door for Maysilee. Before she gets into the seat, she turns to face Haymitch, and she's crying.

He's crying, too.

(It's happy crying; manly crying, if anyone asks Haymitch.)

Her hand is rubbing against his cheek and his hands are resting on either side of her five-months pregnant belly.

They're going to be a family.

Haymitch is smiling when he helps her into the car, shuts her door, and walks around to the other side of the car to get in.

He's not smiling when a driver forgoes stopping where the stop sign is marked, colliding at full speed.

He's not smiling. He's doing everything but.

_May 22, 1951_

He blinks against the lights, tries to open them again, and decides against it. He remotely hears his mother calling for the doctors, for someone, and he wonders why.

"Haymitch? Haymitch, are you awake? Are you there?" It's his father's voice. He sounds concerned. Huh. He wonders why his parents are there.

Well, there's no more feigning sleep, he supposes. He braces himself against the light and forces his eyes open, and all he sees once his eyes have adjusted is his mother's hair.

"Oh — thank goodness you're awake. We didn't —" she cuts herself off there. He mumbles something that probably sounds like, "huhwah" before his mother finally lets go.

He wants her to come back, wants her to hug him so he can't see anything but her again. His father looks like he hasn't slept in days and there's a doctor standing at the foot of his bed — why? He looks around at the crisp, bare white room with one chair in the corner.

"Huh? Wus goin' on?" he tries, figures it's close enough for them to make sense of it. His mouth feels like it has cotton in it.

He hears his mother and the doctor arguing about something he can't make out, so he focuses on his father's face, his tired but relieved eyes.

"Haymitch? Haymitch, can you focus on me?" the doctor says.

He doesn't respond audibly, but he turns to the doctor. The doctor nods approvingly.

"Do you know what day it is?" Haymitch shakes his head. The doctor looks concerned for a moment, but says, "It's probably just disorientation."

Haymitch swallows, works his mouth around for a moment, and then he asks, "Why am I here?"

The doctor looks hesitant, but eventually says, "Haymitch, you were in a car accident."

His brain kicks into motion at that, a million questions racing to get out of his mouth at the same time.

This is what makes it out:

"_What? _When Is — is Maysilee all right? Where is she? What about the other driver?"

Clinically, the doctor says, "About three days ago. You've been in and out of consciousness." He pauses, and Haymitch is about to repeat his question, when the doctor looks down. "I'm sorry to say that your wife was declared dead at the scene of the accident. The other driver was transported to the hospital with you, but he passed on yesterday morning due to complications from the accident."

Haymitch doesn't cry, because he can't. He's numb.

"My wife, she is — _was_ — pregnant. What about the baby?"

His mother chokes on a sob. His father walks over to the window and stares out it; he's shaking.

"I'm sorry, sir." He does look apologetic.

Haymitch closes his eyes. This is all a dream. It has to be. He's going to wake up and catch Maysilee watching him sleep again, and he's going to hug her close again and never let go.

_June 2, 1951_

He never should have been left alone. His mother had only gone out to meet with the Donners, to offer her help with any last-minute funeral plans. It had been long enough.

He's not — he's not _trying _to do anything. He's not. But he's in pain — physically and emotionally, both clawing at his insides and trying to get out. He finds his parents' spirits cabinet, and he's only going to drink a little, he swears.

But then a little turns into a whole bottle, which turns into two, which ends up with him standing on the ledge of a bridge, looking down at the water below.

He can't swim.

He's going to jump; he really is, when a stranger forcibly pulls him down onto the concrete. He doesn't remember anything after that.

He wakes up in a hospital, the seventh time in a month, and is told they're going to keep him for a mental evaluation.

_June 20, 1951_

He packs very little — no personal possessions allowed — and meets his mother at the door. She's crying. It's her default setting, these days.

They travel, just the two of them, by car. It's a luxury, he's been told. They arrive at the South Mountain Rehabilitation Institute. The lawns and buildings look like something that belongs in a resort, well kept and pristine, beautiful.

The interior of the building isn't awful or drab, but it's clear that the outside was just a façade. The halls of the building are lifeless at this time of night.

His mom kisses his forehead and leaves, crying again. He's shown to his room, given a pair of pajamas, and just enough time to change before the lights go out.

He lays in the dark and doesn't sleep.

_August 5, 1951_

The doctors, even if they apparently think they are, are not subtle. He sees the way they look at him. He's heard them whispering his progress reports. _He's been here for over a month. No signs of improvement. No fraternizing with the other patients, except Eddie, but that's probably not the healthiest companionship._

He doesn't want to get better. He doesn't want to be healthy in a world where his wife, his wife and his baby are _dead. _It's not a world he wants to live in. It's not a reality he wants to face.

He sits with Eddie most days, finds out he's in for what they think is schizophrenia. It doesn't bother Haymitch. It doesn't freak him out. He'd thought it might.

They're playing chess in the main lounge when Aaron shuffles in, quiet. Haymitch loses focus on the game and allows Eddie to reach checkmate.

"That is Aaron, is it not?" he asks Eddie, who nods. "But — he's so _quiet_, that can't be Aaron." Aaron has always been one of the louder, rebellious patients, escalating to a fight with a male nurse yesterday.

"Didn't you hear, buddy?" Eddie says, "He got the old' ice pick yesterday."

Haymitch blanches. "They gave him a _lobotomy_?" He whispers the last word like a secret. Eddie smiles, slightly, but it's grim.

"They got fed up with him, I guess. Better him than us, bud."

"Better him than us," Haymitch agrees.

_October 13, 1951_

Eddie's parents come with their lawyer, a court order, and the demand that their son be released from "this morbid place" immediately. Haymitch disagrees; he quite likes South Mountain.

Eddie's wife and daughter are there, too, which surprises Haymitch. He hadn't known Eddie was married, let alone that he was a father. Eddie looks like he doesn't want to go, looks around the lounge almost like it's home. It's become one, Haymitch supposes. He can't remember what color his walls are, what the trimmings of his windows are painted, but he knows the exact dimensions of his room here and he has a friend — a friend who's packing.

"Are you really leaving?" he asks, leaning against the open doorway.

"Wouldn't you?" Eddie responds, not looking at Haymitch, focused on folding. "You can't tell me that you'd voluntarily stay here."

Haymitch thinks about it. "No, I would."

Eddie does look up at that. He puts down the sheet he was folding. The sheet stays in this room, Haymitch knows. He sees Eddie fiddling with it still. "You'd give up the chance to be with your family again?"

Haymitch winces, but doesn't answer. Eddie looks like he wants to ask, but he knows better, instead returning to packing. They're finding out a lot about each other today.

When Eddie waves goodbye, Haymitch goes to his room and sits here.

Why does everyone leave him?

_November 7, 1951_

His mother passes him on the way to the office. She stops, gives him a hug, and walks on.

He doesn't know why she's here.

He asks a nurse — Helen, the one from that first day — and she says, "She's here to discuss some further treatment."

Haymitch doesn't know why they need to discuss his treatment with his mother; he's 23 years old. He tells Helen this.

She just smiles, kind of sadly, and says, "There are some things bigger than we can comprehend for ourselves.

They call him into a room. It's just him, his mother, and Dr. Erikson. He sits down in the empty chair beside his mother, facing Dr. Erikson.

It's a short meeting. Dr. Erikson tells him that they've all been worried about him, that since Eddie left he's appeared suicidal. Haymitch hasn't felt suicidal, he doesn't think, but he hasn't felt much of anything lately. Dr. Erikson tells him that they're going to try an experiment, an operation, in an attempt to help him improve. "It'll take less than ten minutes," Dr. Erikson says. "And then we expect your depression levels to decline rapidly, up to the point of functioning as a normal citizen."

Haymitch thinks he should maybe be a bit more concerned, but he's not. His mother is looking at him like she's sad — no, disappointed — and as Helen informed him earlier, he doesn't have much of a say in it anyway.

"We just want you to get better, Mitch," his mother says. Haymitch sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and agrees.

The operation is scheduled for the next week. He hugs his mother and she leaves the institute.

_November 14, 1951_

He's woken up at precisely six a.m. and taken upstairs. They strap him in, removing his mobility. The first round of electroconvulsive shock therapy leaves him absolutely buzzing. The second round leaves him numb.

He's only vaguely aware of the surgeon — not Dr. Erikson, he'd noted earlier — lifting his eyelids and inserting the polished, silver cutting instruments underneath them. He thinks they feel cold, but that's probably just what he's expecting to feel. All he actually feels is a slight buzzing beneath his skin.

One at a time, the doctor hammers the surgical instruments into his brain, then starts moving them as if trying to beat his brain like eggs. The surgeon, Haymitch knows, has been informed clinically, is separating his thalamus from his frontal lobes. The surgeon and his assistants are talking to him, and he wants to respond, but the combination of cottonmouth and temporary paralysis prevent him from doing so.

_November 15, 1951_

He doesn't get out of bed the next day.

_November 16, 1951_

He hears birds chirping directly outside his window. While, normally, that would have bothered him, now he feels indifferent. When he sits up in bed, he relates this indifference to what he felt during the procedure, except with mobility.

He stands, stretching his sore limbs, and walks over to the sink-and-mirror set next to his bedroom door. He wets his hands and runs them through his buzzed hair.

When he looks into the mirror, he's smiling with two black eyes.

* * *

**author's note**: I'm not sure what this is, either. For the Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Contest (link on profile) and Dicey (thecivilunrest) as a very late GGE gift!

Thanks to Zoey for editing! I have this set as T, but let me know if it should be M or if I've missed any triggers.

I hate to be this person, but please review? Thanks. x


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